200 Degrees Triangle
by Yami-kun
Summary: What if the YGO cast weren't really what they seemed...? What if they were really "unbalanced" and used the show as a coverup? Read about their "true" nature!


A/N: I do not own Yugioh. Ideas were taken from an e-mail I received. And yes.I had a lot of coke and starburst!^_^  
  
200 Degrees Triangle  
  
"Excuse me, sir. But do you know where the guns are? Preferably the large, lethal ones that could kill with one shot?"  
  
A brief look of surprise flickered upon the store manager's face, but was quickly replaced by compliance as he led the person who had asked for his assistance over to the hunting section.  
  
"These are our finest rifles," the manger beamed, gesturing at the wide array of artillery stacked neatly behind the glass wall. "So.any of them interest you?"  
  
The customer nodded slightly as he inspected the many fatal weapons laid out at his disposal. After an excruciatingly long five minutes, said person returned his gaze back to the store manager.  
  
"So?" the manger asked hopefully, eager to make a sale and hear the satisfying ring of the cash register. "What do you think?"  
  
Ryou shook his head in disapproval, a few strands of white locks flying between his eyes. "I'm sorry, but none of these meet my expectation. I require something _far_ more deadly."  
  
"Well." the store manager hesitated, but upon seeing his only customer turn his heels, he immediately dismissed any second doubt.  
  
"Over here," he gesticulated at a large metal cabin with a large padlock on the front, "is the best arm you can find."  
  
The corroded yet sturdy metal protector swing open to reveal a dark, recently-polished handgun. Ryou's eyes instantly lit up at the sight of such a tantalizing and lethal object.  
  
"This beauty can fire up to ninety shots in three seconds!" the store manager crowed, handing the gun to the teen as if it were some brittle porcelain. "And it's one of a kind, too."  
  
Ryou turned the small implement over in his hands, immediately addicted to the comfortable grip of the leather-clad handle. It was nice.yes, it was _very_ nice. The black-tinted metal would go well with his outfit, and it was light-weight, seemingly durable, and, of course, _deadly_. In fact, he might just take it.  
  
"So." the manger attempted to strike up a decent conversation. It was unnerving for him to let a stranger handle such a dangerous tool, especially if the current holder is developing a strange and unfathomable smile and a malicious glint appearing in his eyes. And did that ring-like jewelry he was wearing just glow? "Are you going to go hunting for some of those wild buffalos up north?"  
  
The answer came barely as a whisper.  
  
"No. And could you do me one last favor?" The grin became broader but the tone remained somber. "Where are the anti-depressants?"  
  
~*~  
  
Joey was bored. Yes, bored would be the correct and most eloquent term for the feeling that he was currently experiencing. The world was just so dull; everything was ruled over by repetitive, predictable sameness. His alarm goes off at five in the morning. The birds out his window chirped the same banal tune each day. His math teacher gets mad at him for not _completing his homework_ each night.  
  
So why don't he just amuse himself and end this agonizing torture by depleting his mountainous sheets of schoolwork? Joey could do that, but then he would be breaking the exotic sameness that runs our present society.  
  
The teen sighed as he ran a hand through the streaks of blonde. He found that wallowing in his self-pity was a wonderful way to turn the clock; no one cared how bored he was, and he just didn't feel like doing anything, let again concern himself about the opinions and actions of others.  
  
Suddenly, Joey let out a gasp of horror. How could he have forgotten? There was a party in five days! He couldn't possibly go if he didn't feel like it right now!  
  
Silently berating himself for committing such a treacherous act, Joey immediately sprang for the phone and called the host of the once-every- decade Duel Monster celebration to explain that he couldn't come because he was just so bored and wasn't in the mood to celebrate something that was to occur five days in the future.  
  
~*~  
  
The entire family sat around the dining table; the mother on the left, her husband beside her, and her two wonderful children Malik and Isis across from her in the consequent order. But of course, it doesn't matter _how_ the family sat. It was the meaning and relevancy of the members of kinship to be participating in the feasting of a meal together, right?  
  
Silence settled on the expensive china plates, exception to the continuous chewing and an occasional, "Please pass the pepper."  
  
Finally, the mother put down her fork made from pure silver and turned to face her children with a solemn eye.  
  
"Kids, your father and I have an important announcement to make."  
  
The father nodded gravely, wiping his mouth with a white, silk napkin and continuing his wife's declaration.  
  
"Yes. We have put our hearts into raising you for many memorable years, and have given the best advice possible. But."  
  
The mother picked up.  
  
"But due to the economy, we are going to have one of you go."  
  
A short silence ensued as both children exchanged glances. Never has anything so miraculous happened in their lives! This was too grand an opportunity to pass up! A change to get away from multi-billionaire parents, tux and gowns, and all the formal stuff!  
  
Malik raised his hand in less than one second flat, declaring just as the same time as his sister, "I'll go!"  
  
The teen's hand swiftly relocated themselves to point at the older girl. Coincidentally, Isis moved to point at her brother.  
  
"_You_ stay!"  
  
The female of the two siblings made a face.  
  
"I'm sick of all the etiquette and requirements! I wanna leave and become a psyche and give out God Cards!"  
  
"Hey! You're not the only one fed up with this bologna, y'know! And besides, I wanna go rob a tomb with Bakura or try to kill Yami!"  
  
Needless to say, the parents that had spent so much time supporting their offspring were.stunned.to say the least.  
  
Suddenly, the father leaned over the marble dining surface and whispered something in his wife's ear.  
  
"Honey, how much money do you think we can save if we let both of them go?"  
  
The mother brightened visibly at the suggestion as a curve crawled its way up her lips. "Dear, that's a wonderful idea! I'd say possibly a couple thousand."  
  
"Good. With the recession, we can't _afford_ to lose any money."  
  
His wife nodded in agreement as she set about collecting the gold embroidered plates and returning them to the ivory cabinet, both of which were brought two days ago at the most expensive store in the country.  
  
~*~  
  
Approximately five people stood in front of her. An old man hobbled out the door, reducing the number to four. Another person left. How many are in front of her now?  
  
Anzu's brows furrowed together in deep concentration as she attempted to calculate the number of occupants before her in line. Holding up five fingers and staring at them as if they have some strange disease, she thought, 'Well.let's see, there were originally four people.then one left.so.four minus one is.damn! Why does math have to be so hard?!'  
  
Sad to say, the hapless and utterly perplexed girl never got to finish her crucial thinking, for miraculously she had appeared at the head of the line! Bubbling with excitement, which resulted in unadulterated bounciness, Anzu snagged a gold-tinted card out of her purse and slashed it across the machine.  
  
Almost simultaneously, foreign symbols and diagrams of all shapes, sizes, and - as a bonus - colors, popped onto the screen in a grand splendor. A low hum was emitted from the gray, plastic contraption, making the brunette squeal in enthusiasm.  
  
Suddenly, green printed paper - otherwise known as money - slipped out of a thin slit someone had so arduously made into the mechanism.  
  
Jaws dropping in awe, Anzu gaped at the unbelievable luck presented to her. In fact, she was so stunned that silence prevailed for longer than ten second - a record for her!  
  
"Oh my gosh!!!"  
  
Snatching the bills from the slot, Anzu whirled onto the next person in line, screaming and jumping up and down, "I WON, I WON! THIRD TIME THIS WEEK!!!"  
  
Then the exuberant girl promptly left the scene, happily sniffing the fresh scent of cash.  
  
Blinking, the person whom Anzu had bombarded watched her leave, then shrugged and stepped up to the ATM machine.  
  
~*~  
  
"And as I watch.  
  
the leaves fall  
  
sometimes few, sometimes many.  
  
I can never be sure - "  
  
Someone fidgeted slightly in the audience, amethyst orbs reeling to and fro from the poet on stage. Something wasn't right.the words.there was a cryptic secret about them.lying beneath such ordinary phrases.  
  
Replaying the stanza, Yugi carefully analyzed each utterance with unrivaled effort. Deep creases formed on his unblemished forehead, covered by gold bangs. Muttering the words over and over, the young teen endeavored the enervating task of discovering the enigma only he saw.  
  
Suddenly, the solution came to him, appearing as a great, big rainbow lined with stripes of pink, orange, and blue. How could he have missed it before?! It had been so _obvious_! The poem was written all wrong!  
  
Leaning over to the attentive listener next to him, Yugi whispered softly, "Hey, Yami."  
  
Mentioned person frowned vaguely as he cast a quick glance at his caller. Barely moving his lips and returning his gaze to the poet, the game king murmured back, "What is it, Yugi?"  
  
"I was just wondering.why don't the poems rhyme?" Yugi asked, a bit too loudly.  
  
Now, if this had been an anime, Yami would have sweat dropped. Wait.what's that large, lustrous tear forming at the back of his head.? Oh. Never mind.  
  
//How should I know, aibou?// Yami responded mentally, hoping to keep the amount of glares toward their direction to a minimal. //Why don't you ask them?//  
  
Boy, did he regret saying that!  
  
The host of the poetry recital harrumphed into the microphone a few annoying times before stating, "Thank you for coming to this year's performance! Now, do anyone have a question or comment they would like to make?"  
  
Crimson eyes widened in horror as its owner prophesized the near- future.  
  
//No! Yugi! Don't - "//  
  
Alas, it was too late. Yugi stood up from the hard, plastic seat and faced the host with unwavering determination and curiosity.  
  
"Actually," he began, "I do have a question."  
  
"Er.yes?" the man on stage answered, somewhat nervously. He hadn't expected anyone to actually execute the proceeding and futile remark.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Yugi blurted out, "I THINK THE POEMS ARE WRITTEN ALL WRONG! WHY DIDN'T ANY OF THE WORDS RHYME?!"  
  
Then, as if nothing had happened, the multicolor haired boy returned to his seat, thoroughly pleased at pointing out such a vital error.  
  
The host turned a bright shade of red at such a.obtrusive.inquiry, ducking his head and hastily muttered something along the lines of, " .because they just don't.."  
  
Meanwhile, Yami had found the ugly, sickle carpet _enormously_ fascinating, and a streak of pink crossed his cheeks and ears.  
  
//Yugi.//  
  
Amethyst orbs turned toward him, accompanied by a roguish innocent smile.  
  
/What? I was just curious!/  
  
~*~  
  
Ah, how he missed the cries of nature.It had be so long since he had toured through the lush forests, with the symphony of birds, monkeys, and varies animals of the sort flowing into his ears.  
  
Seto Kaiba sighed gravely as he recalled the last time he had enjoyed such relaxation.only to find a blank, white gap in his memory. Could so much time have past that he couldn't even remember a special occasion in his life?  
  
Actually, the young CEO of KaibaCorp didn't have _any_ recollection whatsoever. In fact.have he even gone into the wild before?  
  
Racking his brain for clues when he should be working on the company's prototypes, a stream of words caught his eyes.  
  
On the front cover of a hardbound book, in big, flashy, red letters, was the title: "How To Make Your Own Jungle For Dummies".  
  
Now, Seto didn't consider himself a dummies; oh no, he was the brilliant boy/teen genius and second best duelist in Japan. But the book looked so inviting.with its shiny surface that seemed to almost call out to him.  
  
Read me.Seto.read me.  
  
Unable to resist the temptation, the brunette grabbed the hardback and immediately started exploring the wondrous knowledge stored inside.  
  
About an hour later, KaibaCorp's benevolent secretary entered Seto's office to deliver a large manila envelope. Upon opening the huge, monolithic oak door, she promptly froze.  
  
There was her boss, surrounded by walls of mosquito netting, with jungles sounds playing in the background.  
  
Perhaps she had being staring for a tad bit too long, since Seto snapped, "Well? Don't just stand there looking like a fish! What is it?!"  
  
Finding her voice back, the secretary stammered anxiously, "N- nothing, sir. I-if I may have the privilege of asking, but.are you.redecorating your office?"  
  
"No, of course not!" Mr. Kaiba scoffed. Then a hint of pride coated his voice as he gestured at the astonishing network of black mesh.  
  
"This," he paused for emphasis, "is my personal jungle. What do you think?"  
  
The secretary nervously pushed her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose.  
  
"I-it's.very.original."  
  
"I'm glad you like it. You may leave now."  
  
Nodding mutely, the young woman shuffled out the door, her mouth hanging open but nothing coming out. The envelope was still in her hand - the one with "Urgent! Give to Seto Kaiba ASAP!" stamped on it.  
  
Oh well. Guess KaibaCorp won't be signing that contract to control Industrial Illusions. There goes a couple billions dollars.  
  
~*~  
  
YK: So, how do you like it? And before anyone asks, yes, I was insane when I wrote this^_^ (and the main ideas came from an e-mail I received from a friend, so it may seem familiar to some people out there)  
  
Yugi: Why _don't_ poems rhyme?  
  
YK: Uh.ask whoever invented poetry!  
  
Yugi: k!^_^ Um.who's that?  
  
YK: (question mark flashing above her head)  
  
Yugi: .  
  
YK: Depending on how many positive reviews I get, there might be another chappie! So please R&R!^_^ 


End file.
